


Sacrificial Small Talk

by R_Quarion



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Emotionally Repressed, Hes the worst, Homophobic Language, I love him tbh, Implied Sexual Content, Its canon typical, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pissman Roy, cole is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Quarion/pseuds/R_Quarion
Summary: Roy can be a fan of drinking away reality in the presence of those who don't know his name.Phelps has him wound up, Roy finds himself admitting emotions in a time and place he didn't expect.
Relationships: Roy Earle & Cole Phelps, Roy Earle/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Sacrificial Small Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [L.A. Noire Discord Server](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=L.A.+Noire+Discord+Server).



"Cole, you stupid fuck!" Roy exclaimed, pushing Cole back. He heaved for breath, winded, as his back hit the wall square and stole all the air from his lungs. Of course Roy didn't  _ hate  _ Cole. In fact, very much the opposite. He had an attraction to the man that angered him beyond belief. Roy had been fine until that shining star came along. With his war hero whispering and commendations flooding him quicker than he could handle, the man was brilliant at his job. 

It just so happened that those blessed with brilliant traits were always the ones to catch Roy's eye. And Cole, well, Cole was the LAPD's golden boy. Does it get much more brilliant than that?  Most people who peaked Roy's interest were dropped within a few days. Stories became mundane, flair for the dramatic were mere more than brief flares. And Roy was left where he always was. Alone, in his ivory tower. Looking down at those around him. And why not? Sparks always tended to die out. 

"Up yours, Roy." Cole had nearly spat on his shoes in saying so. The man's face was angry and Roy, god forbid, Roy was feeling a swell of conflicting urges. He dug his nails into his palm to stop himself from throwing a punch.   
"Hey, remember I fucking vouched for you to be here. If not, your sorry ass wouldn't have gotten that promotion. So you can go to hell, Cole, and take that fuck off ego with you!"   
Once Roy was in such intimate arguments, the origin of it all seemed to slip from him. Well, with Cole so up close and personal, his breath in the cold night warming Roy's lips, he couldn't help being distracted. Roy had one hand against Cole's chest, holding him to the wall in the dreary alleyway. The hatred on his face could kill and Roy's palm could feel that race of heartbeats go far beyond what it should have been. It only made Roy angrier.   
"As you wish," Cole shoved Roy off of him, walking away and hissing, " _ partner _ ." 

How Roy got from there to the bar was a whole other thing in itself. One moment he was watching Cole walk into the foggy night, contrasted so sharply by street lights. Then he was rummaging through his clothes for a change. Then, eventually, after too-long of a drive he was at the bar.  It was a bar for fruits and Roy knew it. Hell, he was a regular there. With an outfit that did scream money but was too stark of a contrast for anyone to recognise him; he had drowned such anger in this place so many times. Under a fake name, of course, and always paying without any attention to personal detail. No checks- no names. He'd not make eye contact with his taxi drivers either. He wasn't there for work, after all. And no one from the LAPD needed to know. 

Their need-to-know basis was that they  _ didn't _ . 

"Mr. Grey!" The bartender said as he walked in, clearly still beyond angry. Roy was slid his favourite drink before he even addressed the bartender back.    
"Please, call me Rhys." Roy would say, already downing the drink.    
"New fella, back left, seems your type." The bartender winked at Roy as he slapped down some money and was passed another drink.    
"Oh you look after me well, don't you?"    
There was so much about this one bar in particular that he loved. Dim lighting meant people were beyond unlikely to recognise him after. The gentlemen who run the bar were familiar enough with Roy to predict what he needed. More specifically,  _ who _ he needed. 

Walking through the crowd as if invincible to elbow jabs, Roy spotted the man he'd been directed too. Early thirties, dark brunette hair that shone in ginger flecks in the bars lighting. Hazel eyes that were begging for Roy the second he lay eyes on him.    
“Evening, handsome.” He looked Roy up and down, nodding his head toward the empty seat.   
“Bold. I like that.” Roy took a seat. Eyes staring at the man he was about to let lose all his repressed needs on, if he was to be willing.   
“Mhmm, I may have some other characteristics that will interest you then.” 

It was the lip bite that followed that sold Roy on his plans for the night.

Roy wouldn't dare admit that his thoughts would wander whenever he was in intimate company. This man who was beneath him, bare-chested and sprawled out against a mattress. Writhing, eyelids heavy and mouth ajar, such picture perfect bliss. Roy saw the stranger but his mind only thought of Phelps. Cole goddamn Phelps with that intoxicating tone of voice. His eyes that could form daggers to scare the strongest men. He'd walk with such purpose. Even a slight turn of his head could catch Roy's attention. The shape of his facial features, the curve of his cheekbones, the lips he often held between his teeth when he was thinking. LAPD's Golden Boy, completely smiting Vice's repressed fruit. 

Roy wouldn’t normally bother with small talk. Maybe, just maybe, the alcohol had loosened his vocal cords a bit. But it was only in the aftermath, basking in the glow of coming down off a high, and the gentleman looked over to him and asked, “who are you thinking about?” that Roy considered answering honestly.  Silence had followed,    
“You had your eye on me but your mind elsewhere…” Damned this stranger and his poetic tongue.    
“Work acquaintance.” There was a sigh that followed,   
“Does this work acquaintance have your heart?”   
Roy moved back to stare at the ceiling. Light coloured, bland, not nearly enough of a distraction,   
“In a grip so tight that one day it might just burst…”

The stranger hummed, eyes moving to the window where moonlight streamed through curtains softly shifting in the draft. Beeps of distant cars interrupted the still of the night.    
“Will you ever tell him?”   
Roy was counting cracks in the ceiling, feeling the rise and fall of his own chest beneath his palm.   
“No.” His brow furrowed, “and see the look of innocent surprise on his fucking face? No… one of us will die before that ever happens.”   
“Describe him to me.”   
There were so many potential answers that Roy could give. An essay, if you will, internalised and ready for recall. It would never see the light of day. Every word Roy ever said was calculated and purposeful. It had a reason to be said, it had a message to send, there was never to be mindless running of his mouth for unfiltered words to escape his lungs.

“The worst. He’s the worst.”

Sometimes, honesty slipped through the cracks. Water stains on the writing, bleeding ink through the soluble paper of Roy’s mind. Some words he wished would be washed away entirely. Those along the lines of caring and outreach, where the paper scripted a side of Roy he willed would go away. That was where his anger sparked, where he wished to reduce his own self to ash. 

“And yet, you ache for him?”

Roy, for the most part, was carefully constructed of all the dimensions he wanted people to see. It had taken a former marine to put cracks in his precise architecture, much like the ceiling above him. Somehow, in the small talk with a stranger he was sacrificing exposing reality. 

“Unfortunately so.”

**Author's Note:**

> angst or somethin


End file.
